


Closer

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: FebuWhump 2021 [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Dark, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, FebuWhump2021, Mind Manipulation, Padmé Amidala Needs a Hug, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker have a love to cross the stars.Or, so they say.(Padmé's head is aching.)FebuWhump 2021 - Mind Control
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: FebuWhump 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150256
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> 'But, The Last Kenobi,' you say. 'Why aren't you working on your multi-chaptered works? It's been weeks.'
> 
> The short answer is that I'm tired and prompts are fun.
> 
> The long answer is that I'm working overtime, I'm tired, and I really, truly, want to publish *good* chapters for you that actually match the plots I have planned. You can expect updates soonish, but for now I am Too Sleepy to give you anything worthwhile. Next update will be for An Abundance of Obi-Wans, never fear. 
> 
> Take care, darlings.

Padmé watches him, suddenly regretting how eagerly she had stepped forward to greet an old friend. She had entered the room with her eyes set on Obi-Wan Kenobi, her reluctance to accept this enforced protection dissipating in the light of greeting a trusted ally from her youth.

But now she is pinned beneath the eyes of the younger man by Obi-Wan’s side. He’s several inches taller than the ginger-haired Master – he towers over Padmé, and he steps nearer to her.

Closer.

He’s slim and slightly awkward, but he’s projecting bluster and power –

And a deep, intense... _something_ that sets off warning bells.

“Ani?” she calls him, hoping in some silly part of herself that he’ll shrink back down to the nine-year-old she had met all those years ago.

But of course he doesn’t.

He doesn’t move towards her, but somehow, Anakin Skywalker looms closer.

Her head begins to ache.

They’re on Naboo.

He’s always _there._

Constantly watching, making soft noises of – appreciation? Amusement? At everything she says or does. What is it about her that he finds so fascinating, exactly? Padmé is aware that she is beautiful, and it’s always been something she has enjoyed – in her youth, selfishly – and then, later, with the simple Nubian cultural appreciation for natural beauty. Beauty she was reflecting from her parents. Very few would call any of her people unlovely.

Anakin, however, is fixated on her every movement. His eyes watch her lips when she speaks, the curve of her throat when she eats, her hips as she walks.

He corners her, makes a lurid _confession_ that makes her skin crawl.

He makes demands.

And Anakin Skywalker is handsome.

He’s too young. Too impulsive. Too selfish. He hates being commanded but believes in a government where he has no personal responsibility, where no one does, because a single person has command. He’s vivid and barely contained and he won’t stop _pushing_ her boundaries.

She’s frightened. And somehow also – tempted.

She wants to avoid him—

Inexplicably, she finds herself following him out onto the veranda one morning, drawn to him almost against her will. He’s in pain, and she can’t help but want to change that.

As soon as she stops walking, sudden clarity hits her across the head like a slap – _run, run, go back inside, quickly_ —

But—

 _“Stay,”_ he commands in a soft voice.

And she cannot will her feet to move.

Tatooine is worse.

Far worse.

The only trouble is, she can’t – afterwards – _remember why._

Something.

Anakin, crying, screaming – a magnetic tug, her hand carding through his hair –

He buried someone.

 _“ALL OF THEM,”_ his voice screeches in the depths of her mind, but all of what? All of – what happened to all of –

Padmé cannot remember.

Geonosis is a blur.

She’s fighting her way through a droid factory, continually distracted between wild extremes – fear for Obi-Wan and whatever trap he had fallen into – fear for the Republic and the information they sent to the Jedi – the instinctive, clear-headed desperation to survive, fear for her own life – and Anakin.

 _Always_ Anakin.

He saves her life multiple times that day, and she cannot find the words to express how this does not mean she owes him anything.

Still, he follows her, his eyes on her, hovering much too close.

Padmé wants to bolt up the hallway, away from him, but instead finds herself curling a little nearer to him.

He truly does tower over her –

And then they’re bound and sent to their deaths in a pit of sand and bloodlust, and Padmé finds herself gazing up into his cool blue eyes and confessing a great, fantastic, earth-shaking love that she does not feel. She does not even believe in this kind of love. Padmé Naberrie Amidala believes in practical love, in mutual respect, in partnership and hope and affection – has long entertained private dreams of a future where she could balance being both mother and politician, entrusting every moment she cannot be with her children to a man she holds perfect trust for.

Anakin devours her lips, and once again, her memories grow hazy.

Padmé Amidala Skywalker wakes up shuddering and gasping.

She’s displaying symptoms indicative of a flu – she’s pale, shivering, nauseous. She feels like death. But mostly, she is bewildered.

What is she doing here? Where are her handmaidens, any of her friends?

Why—

Memory begins to return, and Padmé leans over the side of the bed, dry-heaving, _terrified_.

She is married.

Married, in secret, to Anakin Skywalker, and she has been for _almost two years now._

A whirlwind romance, a hot fire, comprised of possessive touches and constant long-distance calls and much sex.

But she hasn’t spoken to him in over a month now, and Padmé’s head hasn’t felt this _clear_ since before the start of the wars. The wars – she’s been – for the entire duration of a war –

Padmé grabs a suitcase and stuffs it full of clothing, the most simple and practical she has, and races towards the door of her lavish apartments. As she does, tears begin to slide hot and uncontrollable down her face, and she sobs, grabbing her private comm unit and inputting Sabé’s code, praying that her friend has not forgotten her – is willing to forgive her for two years of abandonment and silence – _please—_

She’s six feet from the door when it swishes open and Anakin enters, tall and clad in black, scarred and terrifying and wonderful and cruel and loving and strange and familiar –

Padmé’s head throbs violently.

She crashes to her knees, and her husband scoops her up in his arms, his face creased with concern. “Are you ill, my love?” he whispers. “There’s no need to rush to a doctor. I’ll take care of you.”

The comm unit beeps in her hands.

 _“Hello?”_ says Sabé’s voice, distantly.

Padmé jolts in Anakin’s arms.

He kisses her forehead and lowers her onto the bed, in disarray from her frantic escape. He tidies the sheets and then climbs onto the bed, placing a leg on either side of her knees, lowering himself so that he lays atop her, pinning her there. His breath is warm on her skin, already sticky with sweat and – flu. The flu.

“I’m sorry,” Padmé says politely, lifting the comm to her lips. “I don’t know why I called.”

Sabé begins to speak, but Padmé ends the call and lets the device fall to the floor, heedless. Anakin kisses her, smiling against her lips.

“You’ll feel better soon,” he reassures his wife, trapped beneath him, gazing vacantly back into his eyes, her strong-willed mind bending under his, suffocated in heat. In his nearness. “You always feel better when I’m around.”

“I always do,” she echoes.

“I love you,” he tells her.

“I love you too,” she says, with conviction.

How could she not? She has always loved Anakin Skywalker.

There is nothing more important than him.

There is no other life for her.

(Each time he leaves her, her head aches.)


End file.
